


Just Like the Others

by Romiress



Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Bottom Damian, Bruises, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sex Work, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sparring, Top Slade Wilson, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Damian knows what he wants, and Slade's going to give it to him.
Relationships: Damian Wayne/Slade Wilson, Mention of Slade Wilson/Others
Comments: 32
Kudos: 197
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2019





	Just Like the Others

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noctiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/gifts).

Slade can't remember the last time someone knocked on his safe house door. It's just not  _ done, _ not only because it's stupid (he's got it rigged so that forcing the door open will cause it to detonate), but because he makes a point of ensuring no one knows where he lives.

Only apparently not  _ no one, _ because someone's knocking at his door right then.

He double checks his gun as he heads for the door, keeping his footsteps soft. The peephole is sealed over, but he's got a security camera in the hallway he can check. His best guess is Dick, if only because he's one of the few people who might be able to locate Slade  _ and _ be stupid enough to knock, but he hasn't seen him for a few weeks, and as far as he knows Dick is still up in Bludhaven.

It isn't Dick, though: It's his kid brother.

And not even any of the kid brothers he likes, but the baby of the family.

The baby of the family standing outside his door in his  _ goddamn Robin uniform. _

Slade's half a moment from calling Dick to come pick up his brother when he decides against it, pulling the door open himself, leaning against the door frame as he stares down at the kid in front of him.

"If you're trying to sneak into my apartment and catch me up to some kind of nefarious deed, consider actually sneaking rather than knocking next time."

"I am doing no such thing," Damian snaps. He makes an attempt to brush past Slade and walk into his apartment, only Slade simply stands his ground, causing Damian to practically walk into him before falling back, looking irritated. "...Let me in."

"Why should I do that?" Slade asks. "You've never been anything but an irritation to me, kid. I've got no reason to let you in."

Damian wrinkles his nose, obviously irritated. He clearly doesn't want to have the conversation at all, and  _ absolutely _ doesn't want to have the conversation in the hallway.

Slade doesn't either, but he doesn't tell him that. It's simply bad practice: never show your hand to an opponent.

"I would like to engage in a business transaction with you," Damian says as formally as he can muster, and Slade's eyebrow goes up in surprise.

Damian—Damian  _ Wayne _ —wants to hire him.

The son of  _ Batman _ wants to hire him.

"Color me surprised," he says, stepping out of the way. It could be a lie, but even as a charade, it doesn't seem like something Bruce would approve of. It's obviously not a plan Damian's run by him whether it's a lie or not.

Damian steps inside, looking immensely relieved to be inside as he inspects the apartment. It's not his main one (Slade doesn't really  _ have _ a main apartment, technically), but it's at least semi-permanent. Secured weapons cache. Sleeping area. A little kitchenette. He catches Damian staring at the computer setup Slade has, and Slade cuffs his head.

"Don't even think about it," he says, closing the door and securing it behind them. "Now let's not beat around the bush. Who do you want to be rid of so badly you're willing to cross daddy?"

Damian's never had his father's compunctions about killing, but he's always put at least an effort into containing himself for the sake of his family, and Slade's surprised to see him going back on it.

It has to be something big, and he's shocked he hasn't heard about it.

"No one," Damian says.

"You said—"

"If you would allow me to finish," Damian says, annoyed, "I would have explained the nature of the task for you."

Slade bites his tongue, watching Damian as he works himself up to saying it.

When he does, it takes every bit of Slade's self control to not laugh in his face.

"I would like to sleep with you."

Slade's sure his face is twitching for how hard it is to contain his laughter.

"You're not my type."

"I have a large amount of cash prepared for this," Damian says. "I am also sixteen, which is the legal age in this state—"

"Why would you think I would give a damn about the  _ age of consent?"  _ Slade asks, giving a dismissive wave.

_ "I _ care for the age of consent," Damian says. He looks genuinely flustered, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation. His cheeks are actually going red, even.

"You aren't my type," he says. "Period."

"I should have known you'd be useless at something like this," Damian says. "I will simply have to find someone better."

Damian turns to go, but Slade's hand darts out, catching Damian by the shoulder. The scuffle is brief, with both of them disengaging without further blows.

"Explain," Slade says. "What the hell are you actually doing here?"

Oh yeah, Damian is  _ definitely _ embarrassed. His cheeks are going more and more red with every word spoken.

"My training with the League was insufficient," he says. "Mother always said there would be appropriate training when I came of age, but since she is no longer available, I must endeavor to ensure I have the proper training myself. Father would... would not approve."

Slade slaps his forehead with his palm.

"Kid, you don't want this. Go home, have your first time with some nice girl your pop tries to match you up with, and handle things the normal way. You don't want to handle things the al Ghul way."

"I do," Damian snaps. "Other people my age are already experiencing these things, and I will—I will not be left out."

A suspicion starts to grow, even if Slade is wishing it really wouldn't. He can't stop himself from leaning in slightly, his voice dropping low and husky.

"If you came here for training," Slade says, "then the answer is no. I'm not a prostitute. But..."

He lets the  _ but _ hang in the air, watching the way Damian's body tenses.

"If you came to me for  _ another _ reason, then we could talk."

It's a test. He wants to see if Damian's pride will bend enough to let him admit it. Obviously he didn't come to  _ Deathstroke _ for no reason. No, he picked him out because of a very specific set of criteria, and Slade presses in, closing the space between them.

Damian doesn't fight him. He doesn't lash out, even with Slade so close.

"Go on," Slade says.

"You seem like you would be knowledgeable about how such things go," Damian says, which is not the answer Slade wants. "Your healing factor means you would not carry any diseases," he continues, which is also not the answer. "You can be trusted not to betray a contract."

But that's still not the answer he wants, and Slade leans in a little bit closer.

"And?"

Damian swallows. It's the first real sign of nerves since the whole thing started.

"And..." Damian says slowly. "You are... appealing to me."

Not exactly the most flattering way to say it, but Slade can't help but be amused by the whole thing. Not just that Damian's come to him for help in such a sensitive manner, but the difference from his normal demeanor. He's nervous, almost like he's expecting rejection.

"Appealing," Slade says with a chuckle. "That's all you have to say?"

Damian scowls at him, obviously unimpressed.

"Will you take my offer or not?"

"On my terms," he says. He wants to be  _ very _ clear on that front. The kid can either do things his way, or he can get the hell out.

"Which are?" Damian says, folding his arms across his chest.

"We fight, for one."

"...Fight."

"You're the type who will be a problem if we don't. You'll argue. You'll bicker every step of the way. So we fight, I win, and then I show you how I do things."

"And if I win?"

Damian isn't going to win, but Slade indulges him.

"If you win, you can do whatever you want to me. Have your way with me, as they'd say."

He doesn't miss the way Damian's tongue darts out, dragging along his lower lip. He's tantalized by the idea, lost in thought by what that would entail. By what he could do with Slade—with  _ Deathstroke _ —at his mercy.

"Alright," he says. "I have terms of my own."

"State them."

"No marks. I walk out of here tomorrow morning under my own power. No touching any of my gear or devices. No records of this encounter will exist."

"I'll counter," Slade says. "No marks that couldn't be explained by an ordinary patrol. We're starting this off by sparring, and I can't control how many bruises you'll get out of it."

Damian considers his options, and then nods.

"Acceptable."

"Good," Slade says. "Then you'll pay me now, we'll start immediately, and I'll kick you out tomorrow morning."

He wasn't planning to go all night, but he certainly can. Does Damian even realize that a normal encounter doesn't generally last that long? Or is he that level of ignorant?

Damian doesn't try and haggle. He knows the kind of price Slade expects, and when Slade's phone alerts him to a transaction, he gives it only a cursory glance before setting it aside, dropping it onto its dock.

"Clothes off."

"What?" Damian says, reeling back.

"I already know who you are, so you can dispense with the mask. Otherwise, gear off. Anything left on, I'm going to assume you don't mind me ruining."

"You'll do no such thing."

"I'll do that exact thing, actually," Slade says. "Clothes off."

"I should make you remove them."

Slade smiles, showing the whites of his teeth. "If you'd like."

Damian seems to second guess himself.

"...You'll do the same."

Slade reaches up, starting to peel off his gear. There's not much of it, considering the ikon suit is pretty much all he needs.

Damian does a poor job of hiding that he's interested in what Slade has on offer as he pulls the top half off, tossing the suit aside as he goes down to his boxers.

"Foolish," Damian says. "You're defenseless."

"If you think I need the suit to kick your ass, your training must be worse than I thought."

Damian lunges.

It's a monumentally stupid choice, but he makes it anyway, closing the gap between the two of them. Slade can't decide if he's genuinely arrogant enough to think he has a chance against him, or if he's just eager to see what happens when he loses.

Slade  _ had _ been planning a long, drawn out spar. He'd been planning to really make Damian work up a sweat, to see where the kid's training was at. But with that kind of arrogance? No, he's not getting that kind of perk.

So Slade puts him down. He steps into the attack rather than dodging out of the way, bringing his knee up to slam into Damian's gut as he does. Damian jerks to the side, but not fast enough to dodge Slade's hand catching his wrist, pulling it hard and sending him spinning off balance.

Damian does manage to jump over Slade's sweep, but can't stop Slade from simply hitting him while he's mid-air, knocking him to the floor.

Slade's just too fast for him. He's too fast, too strong, and too big, and that's not even taking into account how much more experience he has. The League didn't even come close to preparing him for this.

Damian grunts as he hits the floor. There's no padding, nothing to soften it, and Damian lets out a pained wheeze as Slade drops down, pinning him to the floor with a knee pressed against his lower back.

Slade's not exactly a lightweight, and he's putting his  _ full _ weight onto Damian.

"You've lost," Slade says. "That was fast."

"You—" Damian snarls something, but apparently can't quite figure out what it is about the situation that's unfair. Slade's wearing nothing but underwear while Damian's still fully geared.

"You were always going to lose," Slade says. "Only difference is how fast, and how irritated I'd be. Considering you're still fully clothed..."

"I'll take them off," Damian snaps. "I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"Rookie mistake," Slade says with a laugh. "Always bring a change of clothes. If you don't, you'll end up leaving my apartment with my cum running down the inside of your leg."

Even with the domino mask obscuring part of his face, the flush that brings to Damian's face is clear.

"I forbid it."

"You don't get to forbid it," Slade says. "If that was one of your terms, you should have included it."

"I'm adding it  _ now," _ Damian hisses.

"And what are you going to give me that would balance out me getting a chance to fill you up with my cum, exactly?" Slade says, leaning forward slightly. The shift of his weight is enough to make Damian's breathing hitch, and Slade's sure he's going to end up with a whole new set of bruises along his ribs from the pressure.

"Just tell me what you want."

Damian's a smart kid, so he knows how the game is played. He knows that Slade wouldn't  _ really _ ask him to offer something up, because there's nothing Damian could offer that he couldn't just take.

Or almost nothing, but Slade isn't expecting Damian to come up with it on his own.

"You're going to address me how I please," he says. "We're going to start with sir."

Damian makes a small choked noise that Slade's sure is one of pure frustration. Damian is  _ not _ the sort of person who calls people sir. Especially not people like him. Showing that kind of deference to a criminal must drive him insane, and it's a big ask.

"If I say no?"

"Then I get free reign to cum where I want."

He can see Damian weighing his options, but the weight pressing him into the floor obviously isn't helping him.

"...I accept your deal."

"You accept my deal  _ what?" _ Slade says, pressing down with his knee. Damian's going to have a hell of a bruise.

"I accept your deal  _ sir," _ Damian spits, which has to be the least respectful use of the word Slade's ever heard.

He gets up anyway. If he leans on the kid any longer he's going to break something, and Slade doesn't want to deal with daddy bats kicking his door in for having broken one of Damian's ribs.

Slade watches Damian get up, looking him over expectantly, and isn't at all surprised when, despite the deal he literally just made, Damian takes his time getting out of his gear. He makes a show of removing each piece individually, neatly setting them aside, and then glaring at Slade.

He does it for  _ every _ single piece, and Slade simply stands there and watches, his arms folded across his chest.

The kid's still not his type, but he supposes he isn't bad looking. Fit for sure. Athletic. He's a nice blend of his parents, Bruce's chin with Talia's eyes, and Slade steps forward, closing the distance when Damian's barely even half dressed and reaches down, catching Damian's chin and his hand and pulling him in for a kiss.

He gets an elbow to his ribs for his trouble.

"No kissing," Damian snaps.

"Another term you didn't put in our agreement," Slade says. "Make your choice. No kissing or no cumming inside?"

The  _ obvious _ choice is no cumming inside. It's a deeply intimate thing that a lot of people aren't uncomfortable with.

So Slade's good and surprised when Damian chooses otherwise.

"No kissing."

Well, that definitely means  _ something, _ and Slade doesn't want to dedicate any brain power to figuring out what.

"Get the rest off," he says. "Stop dragging your feet."

"I'll take however much time I please," Damian says, using Slades own words against him.

"You've got one minute, and then I'll just have to help you."

Despite his protests, Damian does speed up, stripping off the rest of his gear in record time. He's left only in his underwear, and it's impossible for Slade to miss that he's  _ already _ got an erection. They haven't even started yet, but something about the situation—either the fact that Slade is nearly naked or maybe the fact that he was just pinned to the floor—is apparently making Damian a  _ very _ happy camper.

Slade doesn't bother to hide that Damian has his attention, letting his eye sweep across the boys skin. He has plenty of little scars despite his age, and Slade reaches up, dragging his finger across a scar that runs over his pectoral.

Damian shivers, but doesn't make any move to stop him.

"I'll let you pick," Slade says. "Do you want to ride me, or do you want me to fuck you?"

He watches the way Damian's adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.

"Which... would be more standard?" Damian asks.

Slade presses in closer, letting his voice go nice and husky, and it's obvious the effect it has on Damian, his eyes going half-lidded.

"Me fucking you into the bed," Slade says.

Damian wants it. It's plain as day, written all over his features. He  _ wants. _ He wants Slade to shove him down and have his way with him, and everything else is really just a pretense.

He wraps an arm around Damian's waist, guiding him over towards the bed. There's  _ almost _ a bit of protest there, Damian's legs not actually walking to start, but it's not as if he can actually fight back, so he simply ends up being shoved along until Damian decides walking is more comfortable.

"Down on the bed," Slade says. "You're going to work yourself open for me."

"This sounds as if I'm doing all the work. Aren't I the one paying  _ you?" _

"If I had my way you wouldn't even be working yourself open," Slade says. "Your face would be pressed into the pillow and I'd already be balls deep in your ass. But since you're  _ paying _ me, I'm walking through what you should be doing to make a partner happy, and that means working yourself open."

Slade settles on the side of the bed as Damian crawls up. He's smart, because he grabs all the pillows from the top of the bed, arranging them so he's propped up and can keep an eye on Slade, sprawling out on the bed.

"What am I supposed to do, exactly? You  _ are _ supposed to be instructing me."

"There's a bottle in the night stand," Slade says, settling back to watch. "Get it out."

Damian seems to enjoy being watched, because he seems more compliant than he usually is in the field right then. He retrieves the bottle, uncapping the lid and pouring some into his palm.

"You want your fingers nice and slick," Slade says. "Then you go slow. Relax, push one finger in as you do."

He doesn't think Damian understands how much the fact that it's a job matters to Slade. Slade wouldn't have waited. He wouldn't be sitting patiently, watching Damian start to work his ass open, his own cock jerking to life at the sight. He'd be fucking him until he screamed Slade's name. He'd fuck him until he sobbed.

Maybe, if Slade plays things right, he'll still get a chance to do all that.

"Two fingers," he instructs. "Get used to them, then start spreading them out. Scissoring motion." Damian's free hand is already drifting towards his cock, and Slade gives him an unimpressed look. "Don't touch yourself."

"That wasn't in the rules," Damain says with a smirk.

"There are a lot of things in the rules you don't want to do," Slade says, "but trust me when I say that you don't want to do them. Especially not for your first time. So play nice and follow the rules look a good little boy."

Damian scowls at him, but his hand shifts to his thigh instead.

"Fine."

"Fine  _ what?" _

"Fine  _ sir." _

At least he's learning.

Damian's up to three fingers when Slade moves, reaching over to retrieve the bottle of lube. Damian freezes, his fingers still in his ass, but he seems to relax when he realizes what Slade's doing.

"Keep going," he says. "The looser you are, the easier it'll go in. I'm not exactly a small guy, and you're not exactly  _ large." _

Damian bares his teeth as if he genuinely thinks that might intimidate Slade.

"Go on," Slade says. "Keep going."

He drizzles lube directly onto his cock, stroking himself a few times to spread it. There should be plenty—the kid's added so much to his ass it's made a mess of the sheets—but he doesn't want Damian walking out of his safehouse injured.

Even for something like this, Slade is  _ very _ serious about his contract.

"Alright," he says. "Fingers out."

Damian withdraws his fingers immediately, shifting his position. Slade lets out a small laugh, grabbing Damian's ankle and pulling it up. He shifts his shifting his position until Damian's upper back is pressed to the bed, his ass in the air, propped up only by Slade's hands.

It's not terribly comfortable, but it doesn't have to be. Slade can manage to hold him there indefinitely, and Damian isn't in a position to protest.

"I should have insisted on a safe word," Damian hisses, trying to adjust the position to give him more control.

"You should have," Slade agrees. "But here we are, and you didn't."

His instinct is to shove right in. He wants to. But Damian  _ is _ paying him, so he does a bit more to make it worth his while. He reaches down, taking Damian's hand, and pulls it up against Slade's cock. He seems to catch on immediately, wrapping his hand around it.

Damian is still small. He's grown, but not as much as he should have, and Slade decides then and there that Damian's either going to be under 5'6" for the rest of his life, or else he's going to hit a growth spurt within a year and end up taller than Bruce himself. His hand feels almost dainty as he wraps his fingers around Slade's cock, stroking him once on pure instinct.

"You know where that's going?" Slade asks, grinning wide enough to show teeth. Damian doesn't answer, but he does nod, so Slade takes a shot in the dark. "You know who else has had that inside them?"

Damian's mouth opens, but he doesn't speak right away, as if he's afraid that saying it out loud will make it true.

"...Dick," he says quietly.

"That's right," Slade says, watching the way Damian reacts. It's an undeniably positive reaction, the kind of reaction that tells Slade that Damian's probably thinking about it right then. That he's probably thought about it before. Did the fact that Slade had fucked Damian's big brother factor into his choice of partner?

Probably.

"You know who else?" Slade says, and Damian's breath catches in his throat before he finally shakes his head. "Jason," Slade says, watching the way Damian's pupils dilate, his mouth falling ever so slightly open. "Tim."

"You haven't—" Damian protests, but it's clear he's thinking about that, too.

"Your mother," he says, "Talia al Ghul."

"You didn't—" Damian tries again, but it's a weak, half-hearted protest.

"Your father," he says, "Bruce Wayne." 

"You didn't!" Damian protests, his efforts feeble. "He wouldn't..."

"He would," Slade says. "So would everyone else. Here I was, worried I wouldn't be able to get you too, and you came to me all on your own. I didn't even have to try."

The shiver that passes through Damian is delectable, but the fact that he responds by giving Slade's cock a small tug makes his interests that much more obvious.

"Hands off," he says, pulling Damian's hand away. "I've waited long enough."

He doesn't drag it out. Damian's worked himself open enough that Slade just has to line things up and start to press in, watching the way the head of his cock starts to push him open. Damian is dead silent, biting his lip, and Slade reaches up, grabbing his jaw roughly.

"Don't bite," he says. "If you bite through your lip, we're going to stop."

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Damian has no choice but to let Slade hear the noises he's making as Slade slowly fucks him open. It's not one smooth, easy thrust. The size difference is too great for that. Instead, Slade pushes in part way, pulls out, and then pushes in a little bit farther. He repeats the process over and over, working himself in as Damian chokes and whines, fingers tangling into the sheets as he does.

"Almost there," Slade says quietly, making a few short thrusts to finally bury himself all the way in. "There."

His hips are pressed to Damian's ass, and he starts to shift back and get going when Damian reaches up, catching his wrist. He lets out a small wheeze, and Slade feels him tense around him.

"Wait," he says desperately. "Just—I just need a second."

"Wasn't this supposed to be training?" Slade asks, raising an eyebrow. "You think an enemy would let you wait?"

"An enemy—an enemy won't ever have a chance at my first time," Damian wheezes.

It's a damn good answer, so Slade relents.

"Tell me what you want," he says.

"Just... just wait a few minutes."

"I shouldn't have to remind you, Damian."

"Just a few minutes,  _ sir." _

Slade strokes his fingers down Damian's thigh, watching the way the muscles twitch. Damian lets out something that's almost a sob, his entire body tensing from the stimulation.

He's tight. He's  _ really _ tight. The way he squeezes around Slade is almost painful, so Slade allows him the moments reprieve. He doesn't completely let him off the hook though, letting his fingers wander across Damian's body, watching which places he can ignore and which ones make him twitch.

"Sir," Damian wheezes, his eyes kept tightly shut. The position gives him almost no control, leaving him dangling in the air, unable to do much aside from twitch around Slade's cock.

"This everything you thought it would be?" Slade says. He doesn't bother hiding his grin as he bends over Damian, adjusting the position of his cock as he does.

Damian practically howls from the stimulation, letting out a soft sob as he tries to recover. Slade's probably too big for him, and Slade doubts Damian's the type to play with his ass. It's a lot of firsts, in other words.

"Time's up," Slade says and gets to work.

The position gives him a good view of Damian's face and torso, and it's satisfying to watch the way his stomach rises and falls as he wheezes. The pace Slade sets is absolutely punishing, but he does make a point of carefully shifting the angle of his hips bit by bit until Damian clenches around him, letting out a  _ scream _ like he's just been stabbed.

Too much for him. Slades hands rest on Damian's hips, holding him upright and refusing to let him get away as Slade goes straight for his prostate, pounding into him over and over again.

"Please," Damian wheezes, and Slade's sure it's the first time he's ever heard the kid say  _ please. _

"Use your words," Slade says, refusing to even slow down.

_ "Please!" _ Damian whines, and Slade doubts that even he knows what he's asking for. For time? For Slade to stop? For Slade to go faster?

It doesn't matter. Slade's getting what he wants.

But when he sees Damian start to twitch, Slade knows exactly what's coming and reaches down, wrapping his hand around Damian's cock and balls, squeezing in just the right place to keep him from finishing.

"No!" Damian howls, his hands reaching up to frantically scratch at Slade's hand. It must hurt being so damn close to cumming and not being able to, and Damian's rapidly devolving into sobs and Slade fucks into him.

"You cum when I do," Slade says. "Not a minute before."

"No," Damian says, but it's more of a wheeze.  _ "No." _

"Make it good," Slade says, "or I won't let you at all."

Damian's nearly incoherent, his back lifting from the bed with every thrust of Slade's hips. He's given up on trying to jar Slade's hand loose, instead frantically holding onto Slade's wrist, seemingly for support as Slade fucks him open. 

"Go on," Slade says. He can feel his own orgasm building, a tightness and anticipation that feels like seeing a wave approaching on the horizon. "You don't have much time."

Slade doesn't think he'll ever understand what's going on in Damian's head when he opens his mouth and wheezes one single word.

"F-father."

Slade has no idea what he's thinking, but he knows that he likes it anyway. There's a lot of implications in that one single word, and he lets out a laugh. He rises, dragging Damian's hips even higher until only his upper back is against the bed, and then thrusts into him faster and harder then ever before.

"There we go," Slade says. "You can cum,  _ son." _

Slade finishes in silence buried deep in Damian's ass because he doesn't want to miss a single second of Damian's orgasm, and he's not disappointed. He's pretty sure Damian actually passes out at one point, his entire body going from ultra tense to completely lose as Slade lets him sag back onto the bed, withdrawing with a wet squelch.

"You're a mess, kid," Slade says.

It's a sure sign of how fucked out Damian is that he can't even be a brat about it. Instead he simply lies on the bed, either unable or unwilling to move.

"Keep that in," Slade says, nudging some of his cum back into Damian's ass. "You don't want to leak all over my bed."

Not like it matters. There's lube all over the damn bed, and the whole place is a mess.

Damian mumbles an insult, cringing as he tries to roll onto his side.

"Sit still," Slade says. "You'll need a bit to recover... and we've still got another eight hours before you have to go home."

Damian looks horrified, as if he's only just then realizing what he signed up for.

"Don't you worry," Slade says with his most predatory smile. "I'll make sure you enjoy every single minute..."


End file.
